


A Fleeting Dream

by Vocachuuu



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: FLUFF!!!!, M/M, Spoilers, i have writers block so im very sorry if it doesnt meet anyones expectations hhh, i stayed up until 8am writing this two days before it was due, mentions of medication but theyre not used in bad ways, pregame fic, these sad boys just need their antidepressants, this is for a saiouma exchange on twitter!!, tooth rotting fluff!!!! thats literally all this is!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-28 18:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13909494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vocachuuu/pseuds/Vocachuuu
Summary: In this dream, this world of Ouma's where he met someone he could learn to trust, Ouma wished the end would never come. After all, every dream worth having is a dream that should never have to end.





	A Fleeting Dream

**Author's Note:**

> this, like i mentioned, is a gift for a saiouma exchange on twitter!! i love my pregames a lot, and i was really thrilled to get a prompt involving pregame saiouma. even though i struggled a lot with my writers block i hope it's alright:')
> 
> also, i see ouma's pregame self in a similar way to his ingame self. just ... less lying and more depression. i know a lot see him as kind of a more meek person so im sorry if this is a bit disappointing oof ... same with saihara, i dont think he's a creepy, death obsessed freak ALL the time.. anyways i should stop rambling sjkfhkjhf i hope you enjoy !!

Weekends were Ouma’s favorite time of the week. Particularly the nights leading into Saturday; after an exhausting day at school, almost nothing could compare to the pure relief and joy he felt to finally get into bed. Buried under covers, feeling the frame of his boyfriend clinging to his side in a half asleep daze… Nothing could possibly be better than that. 

 

Well, except for the mornings after, of course. 

 

Ouma was an early riser. His parents had molded him into one over the years - no matter how late he stayed up the night before, he would always wake up at eight in the morning. That wasn’t very practical when it came to spending Saturday mornings lazing around in bed until noon, but it wasn’t much of an issue to him. Just being in Saihara’s room and basking in his presence was more than enough for Ouma, so spending a few hours doing nothing didn’t bother him one bit.

 

It wasn’t like he was  _ completely _ devoid of anything to do, of course. He had his phone, and all his social media apps were there waiting for him. There was also Saihara’s phone - he gave Ouma the password a while back, and it’d be a lie if Ouma said he didn’t enjoy moving around things on the home screen just to throw off his boyfriend. Seeing his eyebrows furrow slightly as he thumbed through his phone, eyes clouded with drowsy confusion was quite adorable, if not entertaining. A lethargic, freshly-awoken Saihara was really a sight to behold; he had horrid bedhead, and somehow his eyes were even  _ more  _ tired looking than usual, if that was even possible. 

 

Yet, it was really, really endearing. Almost infuriatingly so, if Ouma hadn’t been so hopelessly in love with him. He almost -  _ almost  _ \- wished he was that naturally attractive. Sure, Saihara claimed that he was always adorable, but wasn’t it a boyfriend’s job to compliment their significant other? 

 

Well, Ouma  _ had _ always been a rather sceptical person. Maybe Saihara was honest, maybe he wasn’t, but hearing those tooth-rottingly sweet compliments was nice, so Ouma wouldn’t stop him. Even if he struggled to believe those words.

 

It was only ten in the morning. Ouma tossed his phone back onto the nightstand after spending a good hour or so mindlessly scrolling through twitter. There was nothing good - just _ Danganronpa this _ , and  _ Danganronpa that _ . So early in the morning, he really didn’t want to see graphic images of murders or fan theories about who the mastermind this season was. He was  _ so _ sick of hearing about it. Of course, he’d never say that aloud, and he’d still pretend to be a fan until the day he himself signed up and ended that disgusting series with his own bare hands. Until the day he and Saihara both -  _ ideally _ \- survived and escaped, that secret would stay locked deep within his heart. For now, Ouma wanted to cherish his relationship with Saihara, even if it meant pretending to be a fan of Danganronpa.

 

Just as he was about to roll out of bed and grab a bite to eat, a limb snaked its way around his waist. Saihara pulled Ouma close, burying his face into long locks of purple hair. “Too early,” he mumbled, though the words were muffled into Ouma’s neck and hardly audible. 

 

“Saihara-chaaan…” Ouma shifted slightly in his death grip, but otherwise didn’t struggle. It was a safe feeling, being held so close. The warmth of Saihara’s chest against his back, small puffs of air tickling his neck, long legs entwined within his own… It was difficult to keep track of which limbs belongs to who, but Ouma felt more secure there than anywhere else. Never had he felt so safe and loved before he met Saihara.

 

“Five more minutes, Ouma-kun. You’re warm.” It was less of a request, more so a demand than anything, but he didn’t mind. Ouma wasn’t against being held for just the tiniest bit longer.

 

Briefly, he fidgeted in Saihara’s grasp, wiggling loose and turning his front towards the other. Once facing him, Ouma propped his head on the pillow and looked up at the other. His eyes were already shut once more, probably scrambling for comfort in his five remaining minutes in bed with Ouma. Seeing him so vulnerable and unsuspecting was… nice.

 

Not in a creepy way, of course! It made Ouma happy to see Saihara so content. Knowing that someone who was constantly on-guard and anxious could be completely relaxed around him made Ouma feel emotions he couldn’t put names to. Knowing this gave Ouma a reason to stay strong (albeit a small one), reminded him that there was someone in the world who would care if he vanished. Even if it was only one person, it meant the world to him.

 

Ouma spent those five minutes watching Saihara. It wasn’t like he’d care; Ouma caught him staring plenty of times. Black locks of hair fell messily over his eyes, contrasting with his pale skin, and his face was free of emotion. Though his lips were lightly pressed together, a bit of drool still gathered at the corner of his mouth - Ouma stifled a laugh at the sight. It should’ve been disgusting, but it wasn’t. In fact, it almost made him want to kiss the other male.

 

More than five minutes must have passed with Ouma getting caught up observing his ethereal boyfriend, and that realization embarrassed Ouma a bit, even if there was no one there to make fun of him for it. He slid his arm between Saihara and himself, shaking his shoulder gently.

 

“Heey, Sleeping Beauty, free me from your death grip. I need breakfast.” He spoke in a soft tone - a tone that he didn’t even know existed before he met Saihara. The response he got was a brief contortion in Saihara’s face and a incoherent mumble before his eyes opened, although unwillingly. A weary gaze flickered towards him, and he gave a small smile that Ouma was sure not to miss.

 

“It’ll cost you a kiss,” he responded, his voice low. Though he was somnolent, Saihara still managed to make Ouma’s heart skip a beat. _ How unfair. _

 

“Eww, but you probably have morning breath.” Ouma said this, yet without hesitation he was already pushing Saihara’s bangs away from his eyes affectionately. Pushing himself up and supporting himself with his arm, he gave Saihara a light peck on the lips. Before he could complain, Ouma was already sitting up straight, stretching. “That was just a trial. To get the full version, you gotta get out of bed and spend time with me!”

 

He heard a sigh come from behind him, then a groan, and a hand found its way onto the small of Ouma’s back. “I’ll be there in ten minutes… Can you get my medicine ready for me, please? I’m already late to taking it.”

 

“How late? Is it alright to take it late?” He felt Saihara rub his back languidly, and on instinct he arched inwards and breathed out a small chuckle. Being overly ticklish was a struggle.

 

“Just an hour… Uh, it should be fine.”

 

Ouma hummed, leaning into Saihara’s soft touch. “If you say so, Mister Detective!” He didn’t have to see Saihara to know the title probably flustered him. Rolling out of bed, he briefly heard Saihara’s mumbles as he rolled back into a comfier position. Something about how embarrassing Ouma could be sometimes. Grinning smugly, Ouma gave one last fond look towards his bundled up boyfriend before turning on his heel and heading for the kitchen.

 

Ouma wasn’t a chef, but when it came to food, he knew enough to survive on his own. Simple meals such as toast, pancakes, eggs, microwavable noodles, and bagels… Things like that. He was rarely dependant on his parents, so as he got older, he prepared his own meals. He assumed that Saihara did too, considering he lived alone; the thought of his beloved eating fast food all the time was a bit unsettling, if not frightening. That was  _ definitely  _ unhealthy.

 

Humming along to a song from a certain idol series, he prepared all things that needed preparing; he threw some toast in the toaster, stood on a chair just to reach Saihara’s pill bottles, and dug through his bookbag for his own medicine. After all that was done, he briefly left to brush his teeth and make sure he didn’t look like a total wreck. Upon returning to the kitchen, he found none other than Saihara standing there, sliding his pill bottle back onto its shelf.

 

“Ooh, look who finally decided to roll out of bed,” Ouma announced in a teasing tone, pulling out a chair and sitting down. The toaster rang, and Saihara took it upon himself to finish preparing breakfast.

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Saihara responded. He slid two plates on table, and stepped away for a moment to grab butter and a knife. Placing them in the center of the table, Ouma could hear him hesitate for a moment before speaking. “Ouma-kun?”

 

“Hmm?” The smaller looked up, only for Saihara to lean over the corner of the table and press their lips together. Stumbling to his feet, Ouma let out a surprised squeak as Saihara hand found its way into his hair, fingers threading through the long purple strands. He practically melted into the contact - he was so tender with Ouma, each touch gentle and fleeting. Yet somehow, that only made them feel more meaningful, able to convey emotions that couldn’t possibly be described with words.

 

Ouma could practically feel his heart flutter with joy. To think that in a meaningless life such as his own, he could experience something so indescribably precious, no matter how short-lived it was… It truly felt like a dream. Yet every dream had an end, and that scared him - a life without Saihara felt more like a nightmare. Unconsciously, he grabbed a fistful of Saihara’s nightshirt, tugging him a bit closer.

 

It took hardly a few seconds before they were both breathless, and Saihara pulled away. There was a moment of silence between them, but it was a comfortable kind of silence. Not like the constant cold shoulder that Ouma went through at school, or the condescending silence he received from his parents. It was an understanding silence - a silence caused not by not knowing  _ what  _ to say, but because there were no words  _ to _ say. Ouma took a few breaths before meeting soft gray eyes and smiling. 

 

“You alright?” Saihara asked, still reciprocating the fond expression while also appearing genuinely concerned. Ouma released his shirt, instead running a hand through Saihara’s hair and disheveling it slightly.

 

“A-OK! Just thinking, that’s all.” He gave the brightest smile he could muster before backing away from the taller and sitting down once more. “Anywho, the food is gonna get cold if you keep distracting me like that.”

 

Saihara looked like he was about to retort, but cut himself off, instead just shaking his head and chuckling. The two sat in silence as they ate; Saihara’s eyes were trained on his phone, while Ouma stared out a window (and occasionally looked over towards Saihara). After finishing, Ouma shoved his plate aside and rested his elbows on the table, holding his chin in his hands and watching the other for a few moments.

 

“Saihara-chaaan,” he sang, watching Saihara’s eyes flicker up from his phone and look at him in curiosity. “You look cute without your hat! Your hair is soft and cute.”

 

“E-Eh?” He raised his phone to cover the bottom half of his face, averting his gaze. “Quit that… You’re so embarrassing, Ouma-kun.”

 

“Naah, I speak purely true words!  It’s so tidy and cute. And you’ve even got an ahoge! You’re like a Danganronpa protagonist.”

 

“No way! I-I’m nothing like a Danganronpa protagonist… I’m not really the type to strive for hope, and neither is the personality I want to submit when I audition…” He placed his phone down, meeting Ouma’s playful gaze. “A-Anyways… Do you think it’s a bad think for me to wear my hat..?”

 

“Huh? Not at all! Where’d that thought come from?” Clicking his tongue, Ouma rolled his eyes jokingly. “I like that you only take it off when we’re alone. It makes me feel like I get special privileges! Like a V.I.P. pass!” 

 

That made Saihara breathe out a laugh, and Ouma may have been looking too far into it, but it also sounded a bit relieved. With a reassuring smile, Ouma said quietly, “you’re a weirdo, y’know that? I love you, Saihara-chan.”

 

“I think we both qualify as weirdos. A-Ah, I… Love you, too, Ouma-kun…”

 

With that, Ouma looked away hurriedly, face flushed. Sure, he had said it first, but hearing it was just too embarrassing.

 

They continued on with their morning. Saihara showed Ouma some new developments that had occured in Danganronpa while they slept. He listened, nodding along and asking questions while hoping he seemed invested enough. 

 

This dream may have been fleeting. One day they will join Danganronpa; memories will be wiped, and all the special moments the two shared will vanish in an instant. However, even if the end to this dream was approaching quickly, Ouma prayed that fate would do its part and make sure he was always with Saihara. Sometimes, he even wondered if maybe it would be better if he died in Danganronpa. After all, he believed any dream worth having was a dream that should never have to end, and once their memories were wiped, the inevitable end  _ would _ come.

 

Maybe, if he died, Ouma could immerse himself in this blissful dream once more. Except there would never be an end to that dream, and he could live on in a world with Saihara and without Danganronpa. An ideal world. 

**Author's Note:**

> constructive criticism is very appreciated, but please be gentle !! 
> 
> twitter: @hanayagay


End file.
